


Take A Dip In My Daydreams

by Bold_Cherry



Category: Brallon - Fandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: AU, M/M, Sugar Daddy, Sugardaddy, brallon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bold_Cherry/pseuds/Bold_Cherry





	Take A Dip In My Daydreams

When I was a kid, I bet my parents thought I was going to grow up and have a conveniently pretty wife, 2.5 kids, a practical hatchback and a well-payed 9-5 job. I bet they never even considered the fact that I might run away from home at age 17, tell one of the brothel owners downtown that I was 21, and start giving out lapdances and sexual favors to middle-aged, rich men - And they had to be rich, because as the only boy in that place, I was way more expensive than my female co-workers. I liked that job. It wasn’t my dream, it’s nobody’s dream, but I earned enough money to make it on my own, without having to ever face my deeply religious parents and siblings again. I didn’t have any dreams at that point; All I had wanted was to get out, get away, escape the suburbs and the religion and the prejudices. I managed that. In downtown Las Vegas, where everything is flashy and fast and a noisy kind of hush-hush, it’s easy to blend in as just another “worker” that’ll do next to anything for money.

 

The girls I worked with were some of the nicest people I’ve ever met - The owner was a sweet, excentric lady called Ms. Lace, who always made sure we were safe and happy. My co-workers were all different ages, races, body-types and personalities, but I was the youngest, and I was everyone’s little brother. I loved that - Whenever I’d had a customer that had made me feel particularly humiliated, or something had gone wrong, one of the girls were always there to take care of me.

 

I thought that was all I was ever going to have. That I was going to stay there, until I was too old, and I’d have to kill myself. Until one night, that seemed average, this guy walked in. I hadn’t seen him there before, but he walked in and looked like he owned the place. I was standing behind the big, heavy, deep red curtain that the girls and I had to wait behind, until the customer had looked at our pictures and measures in The Book, and told Ms. Lace which ones they wanted to come out. Usually, they picked a few. Usually, it was girls. I wasn’t exactly busy - Most of these guys would rather go even further downtown and find someone half as expensive as me, and have no one know about it. But this guy, he picked up The Book with a bored look. He didn’t look nervous or uncomfortable at all. He flipped through the pages, and he looked completely disinterested. Until he stopped and looked at one page for a long time. I couldn’t see whose picture he was looking at like that, but I guessed that it was Bella’s - She seemed his type. She was probably as tall as him in her heels, she had black hair that reached her waist, cat-eyes, big breasts and ruby-red lips.

 

Only, when he told Ms. Lace which ones of us he wanted, she went and called my name quietly. “C’mon, Brendon.” she whispered, waving me over. The customers weren’t supposed to know our names - We could make up any name we wanted. I froze when she called my name, something I hadn’t done since my first time, because I couldn’t believe that _he_ would pick me. But I followed her, and sat down on the velvet divan next to him. Ms. Lace ushered the other girls away, and I could hear them whisper to each other - As I said, usually a few of us were called out to stand next to each other, and the customer would pick one from that. But this guy, he had picked _me_ , specifically. It might just be because I was the only boy, but if he’d known that he wanted a boy, why not just go somewhere where he could have had a wider variety of choices?

 

He was smiling at me when I sat down, in a way that I knew he was trying to look attractive, and I thought to myself that he really didn’t have to try; He was tall, way taller than me, with this really dark, floppy soft hair, blue eyes, masculine features and light stubbles. He was wearing black dress pants and a white button-up, that made it look like he came straight from work.  
He seized me up with his eyes, and without saying anything, nodded to the door. I followed.

 

He didn’t say much. He wanted me to dance for him, and while I was shimmying out of my clothes in his lap, he tapped his fingers against my hip and asked for my name. I was so enchanted by his soft, seductive smile and hungry eyes, that I gave him my real name. Then he fucked me - and I wasn’t faking it when I screamed, he was that good - and left me way more money than the number I’d told him.  
He kept coming back, once a week. He didn’t even bother to flip through the pages in The Book, just told Ms. Lace that he wanted me. He kept asking me more and more questions - My age, if ‘Brendon’ was my real name, where I was from, if I wanted to do this for the rest of my life, those sort of questions. I gave him different answers everytime, and told him that if he wanted the real answers, he had to give me his own name. He was reluctant. I could tell, several times, that he wanted to, but he never did.

 

Then one week, he didn’t come. I had a couple of customers that week, but didn’t put too much work into it - I was waiting for him to come back, to look at me in that way he had, like I was his favorite thing in the world. I was waiting to hear his voice, deep and rough, groan out my name, and his strong fingers grab my thighs. I knew I couldn’t, that I shouldn’t, and for all I knew, he had a wife and kids. He just didn’t look the type, to me, and I knew I missed him when he didn’t come back the next week either - Even though I didn’t even know his name.

 

He came back the week after that, and when he fucked me, he seemed frantic, desperate, like he’d missed me too. At least, that’s what I let myself believe, because it was nice, to feel that wanted. When I was getting ready to leave again, he grabbed me around the waist and kissed me like I’d never been kissed before. He told me his name was Dallon, Dallon Weekes, and he’d been on a business trip for two weeks, and he’d missed me so much he could barely stand it. He asked me to leave the brothel and come with him; He’d buy me an apartment, he’d buy me food and clothes, he’d buy me anything I wanted whenever I wanted, it was no problem, as long as I agreed to be available to him whenever he wanted. I told him I’d think about it, and left.

 

I told some of the girls about it afterwards, about the offer he’d made me. They all laughed, and told me to take it, for God’s sake, take it. They told me he was offering to be my “sugar-daddy”. A few of the girls had one - Apparently, it was absurdly rich guys that got off on giving a lover gifts and money and hearing them talk about what they’d bought for all those money. I couldn’t quite figure out what there was to get off on about that, but in the short year that I’d worked at that brothel, I’d heard some stories, and had some experiences, that had taught me that people really could get off on anything.

 

He came back the next week, and made the same offer, and I told him maybe. The same next week, and the week after that. Then he was gone the next week, and came back to make the offer again. He looked so tired and worn out that day, that instead of replying my usual ‘maybe’, I said he looked like he should have gone home and slept, instead of coming here. He shook his head, and said he needed to see me. I couldn’t help it, I was so flattered, that I finally accepted his offer. I called him ‘daddy’ while we were doing it afterwards, just to see what effect it would have on him; It had exactly the effect I’d thought. He got this wild, possesive look in his eyes, and Jessica giggled at me later, because she’d been in the room next to us, and heard the bedposts bang against the wall.

 

He bought me an apartment; I picked it out. He didn’t care about the price, I could pick any place I wanted, it didn’t even have to be in Vegas. So I asked where he lived, and he said he lived in his suitcase, but had places in Los Angeles, Las Vegas, New York, Chicago, Boston and Phoenix, just to name a few, but in the past few months, he’d primarily lived in Vegas, so he could see me. I picked a luxurious penthouse in Manhattan, fully furnitured, and moved the few things I had there. I considered staying in Vegas and keeping my job, but when I mentioned that to him, he got that possesive look again, and I knew that he wouldn’t like me being with anyone else than him, but he’d probably let me - Not that I wanted to.

 

Dallon bought me anything I wanted. He took me to Rodeo Drive to buy me an entire new wardrobe, and I felt exactly like Vivian in _Pretty Woman_ , only none of the ladies at the counters asked me to leave or gave me dirty looks. He went to Chicago for business one week, and I went out to buy something for his money on my own for the first time. I was walking around the streets near my building, and found a music store. I went in, and fell in love with an old, vastly expensive, Gibson guitar. I only had my old, bathered acoustic at home, so I bought it, along with amps and picks and straps. I got a few other things, a few pieces of clothing, that sort of thing, just for the hell of it, and went home. He called me that night, and asked if I’d bought something nice for myself. I told him that yes, I’d bought this guitar, an old Gibson, and, “It was so beautiful, _daddy_ , I just had to have it.” - I could hear him undo his pants, the hitches in his breath when I listed the rest of the things I’d bought that day, and the familiar groan when he finished. I still wasn’t sure what it was that got him off about it, but I guessed it had something to do with control and possesiveness, maybe protectiveness. Either way, it was a win-win deal. I didn’t have to worry about money, at all, Dallon was somehow crazy rich, and he had a warm body and an open bed in New York.

 

The first long while, I felt a little weird and out of place in my apartment. I wasn’t used to that kind of luxury. I grew up in a regular house just outside Las Vegas with six siblings and religious parents. Dallon asked me why I always seemed to walk on my toes around my own apartment, and when I told him why, he took me and fucked me on every available surface in every room. After that, I felt a lot more at home in the penthouse. I can still remember how sore and tired and happy I was when I fell asleep in his arms that day.

 

He offered me everything; New clothes and shoes when I couldn’t find anything to wear whenever we went out to one of those fancy, expensive resturants he liked. He took me with him on business trips around the world, and didn’t hide me away in a boring hotel room, he liked to take me out and spend dinners on me. When I complained that I was gaining weight, he said that he thought I was perfect, but would gladly pay for a personal gym and trainer, or even surgery, if it really bothered me - I declined, but it made me more happy than anything, whenever he offered me something like that. After two years with our arrangement - I was more than surprised that it lasted that long - he even offered me marriage.

 

Dallon took me to Paris for my 20th birthday. He spoiled me more than ever that week, and by the end of it, he offered me a beautiful, silver ring with a sapphire in it, and asked me to marry him. I said I’d think about it, but kept the ring. He kept asking, just as persistent as he had been when he initially asked me to be “his”. He’d ask me over the phone while he was away, he’d ask me whenever we woke up next to each other, he’d ask me on his private plane, flying wherever, he’d ask me anywhere at any time. “Marry me” even became part of his repertoire of things he groaned out when we had sex, in between the usual “beautiful boy”’s and “sugar-baby”’s and “mine”’s.  
He brought me rings several times, different everytime. He asked me in all kinds of ways, even went down on one knee, and I kept saying “maybe” and “I’ll think about it”.  
I could tell that he loved me, that he really, truly, loved me. I think anyone could tell. I just wasn’t sure if I really, truly loved him back. I wanted to be completely sure, and I wasn’t sure if I loved him, or the security his money gave me. But either way, I knew that he was more than my “sugar-daddy” now.

 

One night, he came home to my apartment, and called out for me. I didn’t reply, because I was on my bed, crying my eyes out, like I had been for the past hour or so. My parents had contacted me, tried to make up for everything that went wrong back then, and I, as was typical for me, had been foolish enough to think that we could heal our relationship, that I could get my family, which I missed so much, back. It went well, until I told them where I was, what I had been doing, who I was with - They yelled at me, and told me to never contact them ever again. Dallon came running into my bedroom, laid down next to me, wrapped his strong arms around me and pulled me close. He shushed me and comforted me, and offered everything he could to make me happy - More clothes, more instruments, another apartment, sex, a trip to Milan, the _world_ , until I finally choked out that I just needed him to _hold_ me. He didn’t let go of me even once that night, and the next morning, he packed our bags and ordered his private plane to take us up to one of his “summer residencies”, the one in Maine. It was a beautiful, old house that he’d had modernized. It was my favorite, because it was always either amazing weather or pouring rain up there, the house was far away from everything, and the bedroom window was panorama, with a view over a beautiful, private lake. It was raining when we landed, it rained for the rest of the day, and I spend it with his arms around me and his comforting voice and steady breathing right next to my ear. In the middle of the night, when we were both naked and in bed, and I was on top of him, it had stopped raining and the moon was shining through the window, and its light hit parts of my skin. Dallon kept saying I was beautiful, so beautiful, and he loved me, oh, he loved me so much, until I was about to start crying again. Then he sat up against the headboard and wrapped his arms around me, and held me so close that I could feel his heartbeat. It was tiny movements, that eventually set us both off at the same time, and I finally, for the first time, whispered that I loved him too.

The morning after, he was sitting on one of the chairs on the porch, looking over the lake with his morning coffee. I sat down across his lap, and he immediately wrapped his arms around me - Safe, secure; I’d realized, that night, that it wasn’t his money that made me feel loved and secure, it was just _him_.  
I showed him that I was wearing the engagement ring, the first one he’d given me, the one that was silver with a sapphire diamond, the same color as his eyes. He looked up at me, with question in his deep blue, familiar gaze, and I gave him the smile I knew was his favorite, and finally, an answer.  
“Yes."


End file.
